


Life Debt

by Ina MacAllan (inamac)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Ina%20MacAllan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does Severus Snape owe Lucius Malfoy a life debt?  Five moments in the lives of two Death Eaters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September, 1971 – Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Livejournal Severus-Lucius winter 2009 fest. Chapter 1 began life as a WIP submitted for Ownficfest, and chosen by melfinatheblue, to whom this chapter is therefore dedicated.

There were advantages and disadvantages to being a prefect at Hogwarts. The disadvantage was having to shepherd the chattering first years from train to boats, to endure the lake-crossing at the worst time of year for wind, rain and unexpected squids. The advantage was the opportunity to assess the new intake and consider which might afford some amusement in the coming term, and which could be moulded into suitable acolytes.

Lucius Malfoy leaned back in his chair and swirled the pumpkin juice in his goblet. He had seen young Mulciber drop something into his drink from a flask which he had clumsily concealed, but was not concerned about it. Spiking drinks was practically a Slytherin custom, it was certainly a Malfoy one. Which was why he used this particular goblet - a family heirloom, carved from unicorn horn which would neutralise any poison. He made a mental note to corner Mulciber later, and turned his attention back to the double doors of the Great Hall, which would shortly open to admit this years 'Ickle Babies' as Bellatrix Black had always referred to them. He would miss Bella's devious mind this year, but she was a distraction which he could not afford with good marks in his NEWTs at stake. His parents had made that clear during the long Summer spent trailing around with his father being introduced to the contacts, business associates and politicians who, when he finally left the school at the end of this year, would be his next step in taking up the reins of management of the considerable Malfoy assets. After this year the politics of the school House system would seem insignificant, but meanwhile, as the senior Slytherin prefect, he still had some incentive to see that standards were upheld. Slytherin would not lose the House Cup on his watch.

And it would be interesting to see how his housemates would respond to his new-learned political skills.

The doors at the end of the Great Hall banged open and this years crop of first years filed in between the long House tables.

There had been strange rumours about this year's intake. Alterations had been made to the school grounds – new planting over ground disturbed by subsidence which suggested that something larger than moles had been burrowing beneath, and a new construction in Hogsmeade which was already reputed to be haunted. For anyone with a suspicious mind (and all Slytherins had that) this suggested that there was something very unusual about the thirty or so children lined up awaiting their Sorting.

Merlin! Had he ever been that young? Most of them looked as though they were going to be sick (during the lake crossing on this stormy early Autumn day some of them had already been sick, beyond the power of rudimentary cleaning charms to eradicate), and far too many of them were Muggles and Half-bloods. If the Sorting Hat was doing its job properly and had not, as rumour had it, been suborned by the Headmaster, there would hardly be any new members of Slytherin this year.

Lucius cast his mind back to last week's dinner party at the Manor, and the eloquent case that the peculiarly named 'Lord Voldemort' had put for a more vigorous policing of the Secrecy Acts. If Muggles did show any talent for wizardry it would be better for both them and the Wizarding world that their powers be burned out and their memories wiped rather than allowing any mongrel who could manage a basic levitation charm to enter Hogwarts. And they certainly should not be allowed to _breed_.

He glanced across to the Ravenclaw table where Ted Tonks was shamelessly flirting across the aisle with Andromeda Black. Yes, standards _were_ slipping. The other Black sister, Narcissa, had also noticed – and noticed him noticing. She raised an elegant blonde eyebrow and gave a tiny shake of her head but had no time to make any remark because at that moment the Headmaster called for silence – and the Sorting began.

The first two children both went, unsurprisingly, to Hufflepuff. The first of the Purebloods to step up to the stool was a pudgy boy with the broad nose and sticking out ears which marked him as the youngest of the Norfolk Avery's. Lucius found himself holding his breath while the Hat deliberated but eventually the boy was Sorted into Slytherin amid applause from his new housemates.

Lucius gave him a perfunctory nod. Narcissa Black leaned closer a fraction of an instant before the Deputy Head announced "Black, Sirius."

"My cousin," she whispered. "This should be interesting…"

Lucius watched as the boy detached himself from the group with which he had entered and strode with cocky confidence up to the stool. He had been one of the few who had been neither intimidated nor nervous about entering the hall, as one would expect of a Black. There had not been one of that family in the last two centuries who had not been in Slytherin and although, at eleven years old, he could not be expected to have developed the fine skills of manipulation that the three Black sisters had shown during their time at Hogwarts he certainly had potential. He seemed to have already gathered his own group of acolytes; four boys and a red-haired girl who was probably a Weasley. It looked as though his fears about the dilution of pure blood students in Slytherin House would prove unfounded.

The Hat seemed to be taking far too long for such a simple decision. Perhaps the rumours were true, and the Headmaster had somehow managed to tamper with the ancient artefact. Or perhaps it was just getting worn out…

"Gryffindor!"

There was a fraction of an instant of stunned silence in the Hall. Lucius shared a look of incredulous shock with his opposite number at the Gryffindor table and then Sirius himself gave a whoop of delight and bounded over to greet his new housemates.

At the high table Slughorn looked startled, but the Headmaster's expression was an impassively benign mask. And _that_ was interesting. Lucius followed the old man's gaze to the group of children who had been with Black. The girl had been called forward for her own Sorting. Lucius had not caught her name, but if she was this early in the roll she could not be a Weasley. Some illegitimate by-blow perhaps? Something else for him to hold over the odious Arthur? She too was sent to Gryffindor – no surprise there, except for the reaction of the black-haired boy in the too-large hand-me-down robes who had trailed her in and seemed oddly dismayed by the Hat's decision.

The rest of the group: Lupin, Pettigrew, Potter, also joined Sirius in Gryffindor, and each time the Headmaster gave a grave and benign nod of satisfaction. At last it was the turn of the dark boy.

"Snape, Severus."

Lucius cast his mind back over the list of new entrants that his Father, as Governor, had shown him over the holidays. So this was the half-blood Prince boy. Nothing about him suggested that he belonged anywhere other than in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, but after the earlier decisions of the Sorting Hat he would be unsurprised, and all the more suspicious if this boy went into the Headmaster's House too. There was a moment of consternation when, without any hesitation at all, the Hat cried, for only the fifth time this evening, _"Slytherin!"_.

Lucius rose to his feet amid the cheering Slytherins. Beside him without any prompting, Marcus Bulstrode moved up, leaving a space to which Lucius ushered the new boy with a pat on his back. Suddenly Severus Snape had become interesting, and perhaps, important.

"Lucius Malfoy," he introduced himself, "Senior Slytherin Prefect. Welcome to the House of the Snake. I hope you're not too disappointed to be separated from your friends?"

The boy scowled. "They're not friends," he said. "'cept Lily. I hoped she'd be in Slytherin too – but perhaps the Hat doesn't think Muggles would fit in here."

"Salazar Slytherin wouldn't have tolerated a Mudblood setting foot in Hogwarts," Alecto grumbled, helping herself to a double portion of neaps from the dishes that had appeared on the tables now that the Sorting had finished. "I'm none to sure 'bout half-bloods either."

Lucius closed his eyes theatrically to avoid the sight of his classmate's dreadful table manners. "The boy is a Prince on his mother's side. And there are prophecies about the Princes."

"Oh _scourgify_ it, Malfoy. We don't all spend our time pouring over our family trees like you and the Black girls."

"If you did, Alecto, you might get better marks in Arithmancy and Divination." That was Narcissa. She delicately forked poached wherry onto her own plate as her eyes met Lucius'. "Nevertheless, she has a point. I can't say I like Cousin Sirius much, but I've always thought of him as someone Salazar would have wanted in his House. Do you suppose the Hat is getting past it?"

"I'm not sure that the Hat had a lot of influence on the choices this year." Lucius said mildly. Snape looked up at him with a sharpness that was disconcerting from a first year.

"The Sorting is supposed to be impartial," he said. "It sends people to the House where they'd do best."

"Indeed," said Lucius, reaching for his goblet. "And what do you think you do best, Severus Snape?"

The boy cocked his head, as if considering the question. "I notice things," he said at last. "Like that cup you're using. Did you know it's false-unicorn horn?"

Lucius froze on the point of drinking and held the cup up to the light, turning it carefully. "How do you know?"

Snape bridled. "My mother _is_ a witch. She has taught me _something_," he snapped, in the tones of someone used to being disbelieved. Lucius looked at him thoughtfully.

"About poisons?"

"About detecting them." The boy's eyes slid away, and Lucius remembered that, while his mother was an accomplished witch, his father had been a Muggle, and one who had apparently poisoned himself into his grave with alcohol – if he had not been helped on his way by his wife and son. Perhaps the Sorting Hat had been right. Maybe this particular half-blood did belong in Slytherin. Snape forestalled any comment that he might have made by taking the cup from him. "Real unicorn horn is iridescent. This," he ran a finger the colour of white jade over the ivory surface, "is narwhale horn. It's probably muggle-made."

"It is supposed to have been in my family for over two hundred years."

Snape shrugged. "Then either the Malfoy's have never used it much – or nobody has ever thought you worth poisoning."

Anyone else would have meant the comment as an insult – one that would merit satisfaction on the end of a wand – and Lucius had a sharp retort ready when he realised that the boy had just made a bland statement of fact. Impassively, and with no idea that his forthrightness might be misconstrued. Lucius took a deep breath. Disingenuous honesty. No Slytherin had possessed that since Salazar himself had told his co-founders exactly what sort of wizard he wanted in his House. It was refreshing and intriguing. Severus Snape would bear watching.

He was watching someone else now. Medraunt Mulciber, further along the table with his fellow third-years, appeared to have lost his appetite. Lucius rose, took the cup back from Snape, and moved along to stand behind the younger student.

"Medraunt," he said, softly.

The boy started. He was an awkward, shy fourteen year old, easily led. Lucius had no doubt that he was acting as someone else's pawn in this case, but even pawns should expect to face the consequences of their actions – especially when they attempted to out-manoeuvre a King.

"I'm sure you'd like to toast our new housemates," he continued, with a smile that did not touch his eyes.

"I… Oh. Right." The boy reached for his own glass of juice but, before his fingers had even touched it, it shattered, spilling orange liquid all over the green tablecloth.

"Clumsy," said Lucius. "Here, take mine." He wrapped the boy's fingers round the goblet, covering it with his own to prevent him spilling this drink. He leaned close to whisper so that others could not hear. "Drink, Medraunt. Or tell me who paid you, and how much, to meddle with _my_ possessions."

"I…"

For a moment Lucius thought that the boy would speak – dismiss this as a mere first-day prank, a common Slytherin dare. Then Mulciber's fingers clenched under his, and he brought the goblet to his lips and swallowed the contents at one gulp.

Seconds later his whole body convulsed, scattering food-laden dishes as he fell forward over the table. Lucius grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, seeing eyes wide with shock and pain. It had been poison then. But perhaps the boy had not been aware that the goblet had been switched, that the potion would not be rendered harmless. He reached into the pocket of his robes and forced the object that he kept there between the rapidly darkening lips. Mulciber choked, and swallowed. By the time Lucius had returned to his own seat the boy's breathing was even, and he was weakly attempting to brush off the concern of his year-mates.

Severus had watched the whole thing with curiosity. As Lucius lowered himself back onto his seat he asked "Was that a bezoar?"

Lucius nodded. "Yes. A lesson for you, Severus. Never rely on one line of defence only." He refilled the cup with clear nettlejuice and raised it in his own toast to the new boy. "And never trust anyone – especially a Slytherin."

o~O~o


	2. September, 1976 – Hogwarts

When Severus had seen Madame Pomfrey and her cloaked charge leave the castle he had not intended to follow. Sirius Black had dropped hints about the Matron's monthly task, and Snape was certain that he was meant to follow - and no doubt get into trouble with the formidable Madame as a result. Even his housemaster quailed before her stern discipline in medical matters.

But then he had seen Black himself leave the castle in her wake, and that had convinced him that if blame for being out after hours was to be apportioned any punishment would be shared with the Gryffindor poster-boy.

So he had followed cautiously, and been almost relieved when Madame Pomfrey had gone no further than the dark bulk of the ominously still Whomping Willow, and had returned to the castle alone.

Severus paused, wondering what had happened to her companion. Had he apparated? That was supposed to be impossible inside Hogwarts grounds, but it was also impossible to evade the motion of the Willow - perhaps the tree had been planted to protect an apparition point?

He had little time to contemplate the implications of that conjecture, as the tree suddenly sprang back to whipping life - in response to the appearance of a large black dog on the edge of its reach.

Snape started, and the beast looked back over its shoulder, snout lifted to scent the air.

It would do no good. He had been careful to stay downwind, and in any case the back draft from the whipping branches of the Whomping Willow was sufficient to mask both his scent and any sound that he might make. Nevertheless, the dog knew that he was there - he was sure of that - the hints and taunts that he'd been subjected to over the last few weeks by Black and his cronies had been directed to this end - to make him curious enough to follow his quarry from the haven of the Slytherin dormitories on this wild night. That the hints had suggested other answers to his questions about what went on in the Gryffindor dormitory had clearly not occurred to the conspirators.

Whatever it had scented on the wind, the dog seemed satisfied. It shook itself, and turned into the dishevelled, self-satisfied form of Sirius Black.

For a second Severus wondered why he had done so. Then the boy drew his wand and used a lengthening charm to transform it into a long, thick stick. He reached under the whipping branches and struck a whorl in the trunk. At once the tree froze, and Black scrambled down between the exposed roots - and was gone.

Severus took a breath and grasped the handle of his own wand. He was about to step from his concealment when a hand descended on his shoulder.

"I don't advise it."

He whirled, and found himself facing the last person whom he had expected. "Potter!" he spat. "What are you doing here? Let me go!"

"Put your wand away first. Then we'll talk."

That did not sound like Potter. Usually he hexed first and asked questions later. Severus' eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" He did not lower his wand.

The other smiled. They were Potter's lips, but it was not Potter's nasty grin. There was real amusement there. "A friend."

For what seemed an eternity neither of them spoke. Then Severus pocketed his wand. "Okay. Now, will you answer my question?"

"I'm here for the same reason you are. To find out exactly what Black is hiding - and why."

This definitely wasn't Potter. He and Sirius never used their family names between themselves. Mostly they seemed to use those silly nicknames, whispering over passed parchment notes in class as though they were part of some silly secret society. But it still paid to be cautious.

"You're his mate, why don't you ask him?"

Again the other gave that incongruous smile. "Oh Severus, Severus. If you can recognise a Polyjuice transformation don't you think that Black could? No, we have to follow. But not without caution. Come." He did not wait for an answer but turned and strode towards the Whomping Willow, lengthening his own wand as he did so. Severus, watching by the full moon's light, recognised that purposeful stride, so unlike Potter's casually arrogant amble that it seemed a deliberate parody. The question remained, whatever shape he wore, what was he doing here? Frowning, Severus followed with more caution than before.

The tree had resumed its motion, and they stopped at the edge of its range. The man wearing Potter's semblance leaned briefly on his extended wand, using it as if it were a walking stick rather than a delicate magical tool. He lifted it from the ground as Snape joined him, gave it a brief thoughtful look, and then used it to point out a twisted knot in the tree bark. "Rather obvious," he said, "the symbol of Opening. But I don't suppose that Albus expected anyone but schoolboys to venture here." He reached out with the stick and jabbed it accurately into the tree, which at once stopped swaying. A dark hole gaped suddenly among the roots. "Quickly," he said.

Severus did not need the command to scramble down and into the space. The other followed hard on his muddy heels.

He pulled his own wand out and spoke a soft illumination charm. The light revealed a low, narrow passage, floored with the same square-cut granite slabs that he was familiar with from the dungeons of Hogwarts, but walled with earth rather than rock. There was a narrow shelf beside the entrance, with a box of matches, a tin of oil, and a pair of Muggle-style storm lanterns. A dust-rimmed circle showed where a third had stood. Not-Potter gave a fastidious sniff. "I suppose that Albus didn't trust children to be able to cast an effective _Lumos_, but he might have done better than this. Well, no need to advertise our presence until we know what they're up to. Severus, can you make these work?"

Snape nodded, struck match to wick, and lifted the lit lantern to light their way along the passage. As they moved, bent almost double, along the tunnel he wondered what would give out first, the lamp, the passageway, or the Polyjuice potion.

The tap of his companion's still extended wand on the stones became a monotonous counterpoint to the swinging of the lamp, alternately revealing and concealing the earth and stone through which they moved. It seemed a long time before the floor began to gently slope upwards, and the stick thudded on hollow wood rather than solid stone. The passageway ended, at length, at a slim wooden door.

As his companion bent to put an eye to a crack in the door to see the room beyond, Severus dowsed the lantern. There was light filtering through the planks of the rough door, and the sounds of someone moving around in the room beyond.

"Well," said the other, rising and putting a hand to the door, "Since we've come this far, we may as well finish the job. Wait here." He pushed the door open, and stepped into the room. Severus drew back into the shadows to watch.

Black was there, sitting on an old wooden chair to one side of the room, and spinning his wand casually between long fingers. He looked up at the sound of the opening door and smiled. "Hello, Prongs. You come to sit in?"

The man thus addressed took a couple of steps forward and nodded casually. "Yes. And where is…" he hesitated, and Black obligingly filled in the blank.

"Our furry little problem?"

"Exactly."

"Down there." Black pointed to the far corner, where a scarred wooden door was set into a dark archway. As if in answer to the gesture there came a bloodcurdling shriek from the other side of the door and something big and heavy thudded into the far side, making the whole wall shake.

The man wearing Potter's form nodded thoughtfully. "The Shrieking Shack," he said. "Very clever."

Black leaned back in the chair, propped his long legs up on a chest in the centre of the room, and folded his arms. "Yeah. Pity Snivellus didn't take my hints and follow me. Would've been interesting. Always said he was a coward though."

It was the hated nickname as much as the insult that drew Snape from his hiding place, fist clenched, ready to strike Sirius, but before he could do so strong fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"It takes one to know one. Your family always did prefer to send in canon fodder rather than take any risks themselves, Black."

The insult stopped Sirius far more effectively than Severus' fist could have.

"Prongs? What…" His feet thudded to the floor and he raised his wand - but too slowly. It was blasted from his hand with a wordless charm, and a second froze him on the spot.

"Not fast enough, Black. That is a family failing too."

The polyjuice glamour was wearing off now, and James Potter's features had sharpened and aged. His hair lengthened and paled to the distinctive white-blond mane of...

"Lucius Malfoy!"

The man smiled, and gave a faint bow of acknowledgement, his fingers still curled around the sturdy length of his still transformed wand as though it were nothing more than a walking stick. Perhaps that apparent lack of a wand gave Black a false sense of security, for, although frozen in place, he showed no concern for his predicament. Instead he smiled at Snape.

"Yeah? At least we're better than a snotty little half-blood. You still curious, Snivellus? Why don't you go and have a good look."

He indicated the door on the far side of the room with his eyes, and as he did so there came another of those unearthly shrieks, and the sounds of splintered wood and ripping fabric. Severus had actually taken an involuntary step forwards when there was a resounding crash and the scarred wood seemed to explode outwards, clean off its hinges.

After that things happened so fast that it was not until much later that Severus was able to work out the sequence of events. Something, all teeth and hair and claws, sprang through the shattered doorway into the room. it was coming for him when it was knocked off-course by the solid form of a black dog, materialising where Sirius had been sitting a fraction of an instant before. A hand gripped Snape's shoulder, hauling him back as the vicious jaws snapped on air which his face had occupied a fraction of a second before. There was the sharp flash of spell-light bathing the room in bright glare.

_Imperio!_

The creature froze in mid-lunge.

When the light-dazzle receded Snape saw Sirius, in human form again, sprawled against the broken chest, clutching a shoulder that looked oddly misshapen and looking up at Malfoy with the same expression of shock and horror which showed in the werewolf's eyes as it cowered before the blond man's wand.

"You just used an Unforgivable Curse! The Ministry will..."

"Oh grow up, Black. Its not an Unforgivable when it's used on an animal. And _that_ is a dangerous animal. If you're thinking of transforming to attack me, you would do well to remember that." He gave a low command which sent the wolf back into the far room, tail between its trembling legs.

"You won't get away with this, Malfoy! Dumbledore will..."

"Dumbledore will do nothing." Malfoy ignored Sirius spluttered protests as he bent to haul Severus upright. "We are not even on school property here. He can keep his little secret - as will I. Come, Severus, let us leave this hovel to its rightful inhabitants." He furled his earth-stained cloak around his shoulders and swept from the room. With a last look back at the dishevelled, bruised Sirius, Snape followed him out.

He didn't catch up with Lucius' long stride until he was half way to the Three Broomsticks.

"You saved my life, back there," Severus said. "You've repaid your life-debt to me,"

Lucius did not pause in his stride. "I owe you some thanks for your letters. If you had not told me of your suspicions this would never have come to light." He sighed. "If you owe anyone a life-debt it is Potter. Without his hair for the polyjuice potion my role in this would have been impossible."

Snape frowned. "Potter knew about this?"

"He knew that Black thought it would be amusing to have you attacked by an uncontrollable werewolf. Fortunately for us both, his friends don't share his sense of humour. As for who procured Potter's hair for me - well, let us just say that the Sorting Hat was not only mistaken about Black's house assignment. There are more people with Slytherin cunning in Gryffindor now than there ever were in my day. Remember that."

Together they walked back through the streets of Hogsmeade.

~o~O~o~


	3. Autumn 1979: Meeting place of the Separatist League, Somewhere in Lancashire

It was the last place that the Aurors would expect to find a gathering of the Separatist League – those followers of the self-styled Lord Voldemort who advocated complete separation between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds and whose creed was gathering popular support among the most conservative of pureblood families. Lucius Malfoy's dispassionate gaze took in the cracked concrete paths, the tufts of couch-grass rooted in the guttering, the rust-scarred iron and the peeling paint of the abandoned muggle airfield buildings . It was certainly the last place that anyone would look for wizards. He could not decide whether this was a stroke of genius on their leader's part; or an act of arrogant folly.

The teenager at his side showed no such indecision. "If this is the best headquarters that the pure-blood wizards can find," he observed, in tones that still held the nasal twang of his native accent, "I think that we may as well pack up and push off home now."

"You still have that option," said Lucius, mildly.

Snape's black eyes met his. At eighteen the youth had his full height now, but still lacked two inches of Lucius and had none of his mentor's bearing, and no inclination to curb his tongue. "The 'option' means being _Obliviated_. I don't fancy having my mind meddled with. Especially by the likes of Yaxley."

Privately Lucius doubted that even the Separatist's most accomplished obliviator could get through Snape's shields if the youth did not permit it. But the question was a moot one. In putting forward the name of a half-blood for Lord Voldemort's consideration he had limited both their options. Leaving the League now was more likely to result in oblivion rather than _Obliviation_.

They had reached the door of the largest of the Nissen huts. With a moue of distaste Lucius removed his right glove, laid his hand on the dusty bullseye of glass in the single window and spoke his code name. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Peacock?" he commented. "Not exactly _secure_."

"If you are accepted among us I advise you not to query our Lord's choice of designation. 'Cockroach' regrets that error." Lucius felt the feather-touch of legilimency on the edge of his thoughts. He allowed Snape to pick the image of the squat, dark Amycus Carrow from his mind and felt the brush of amusement in return. Then they both clamped down their shields as the door opened.

The inside of the hut was far closer to Snape's expectations. The roof soared to a painted barrel vault worthy of a Florentine chapel, hung with chandeliers that would not have been out of place in Versailles. The masked and hooded man who had admitted them indicated that they should take their seats at the back of the hall. The ranks of chairs facing the low, tapestry-draped platform, appeared to have been carved from black oak by craftsmen of the 15th century, though Lucius, whose family Jacobean furniture had been consigned to the attics in favour of 19th century upholstered comfort a generation previously, and Snape, who recognised the feel of contoured plastic over metal regardless of the illusion that had been cast on it, were both unimpressed. Much later, when both could speak freely of this day, they had attributed Voldemort's ultimate defeat to his passion for grand illusion at the expense of practical sense.

But it certainly _was_ impressive.

They had barely taken their seats when a column of black smoke whirled into existence in the centre of the stage and, when it had cleared, Voldemort himself stood there. His scarlet gaze raked across the assembled ranks, and singled out Lucius. A predatory smile curved the thin lips. "So," he hissed, low and menacing, "My most trusted lieutenant brings us fresh blood." He gestured to the pair to advance between the rows of acolytes. Lucius, who knew the Dark Lord's volatile moods better than anyone else there, hesitated only in his mind. He rose, drawing his companion with him, and his step was firm and confident as he strode up the aisle, boot heels thudding hollowly on wood that looked like stone. Three paces from the dais he halted and pulled Severus in front of him, placing both hands on the young man's shoulders, emphasising both his protection and his gift.

"Severus Snape," he said. "Formerly of Slytherin House, and presently apprenticed to Master Fleyd of Wizent Place. He wishes to offer his services to the Cause."

Voldemort reached out a long finger and ran it down the boy's cheek before cupping his chin to force the dark gaze to meet his own.

"Snape," he said, half hiss, half question. "I do not recall any pureblood family of that name."

"My mother was a Prince, sir. An old Northumbrian line."

Voldemort nodded, but his grip did not slacken. "I see. Half a Prince. And your Father?"

"Is dead." Snape's voice was as cold and dispassionate as Voldemort's.

A ripple of consternation ran through the crowd. Everyone there had recognised this as a challenge but, although Voldemort's fingers had tightened on his wand there was no flash of green killing fire. Instead the older wizard looked thoughtful. "But not pure-blood? Not even a wizard? A squib?" Each word was an insult. Now Voldemort turned back to Lucius, his red gaze hard. "I see," he said. "The boy is a half-blood. His mother was a blood traitor. It was good of you, Lucius, to bring us such excellent sport. Such a fine example of what we must eliminate from this world." He raised his wand.

Lucius took a half-step back, unsure whether the blow was to fall on himself or his protégé. Bringing Severus here had always been a risk, one he had counselled against, and now his worst fears were realised. Voldemort's volatile temper could destroy them both. He was acutely aware that he was taking his own life in his hands by speaking now. "The boy has a talent for brewing potions, my Lord. And for creating hexes and illusions. He would be an asset. Better service to the Cause alive than dead."

He waited, braced for the Killing Curse, and shielding his mind with an iron will. He had hoped that it would not come to this, but, as he had told Severus long before, one must always prepare for disaster.

Voldemort's gaze passed over the assembled wizards. "Really? Well, we will have a demonstration of these talents then. Or I will make of him a demonstration of mine."

There was a ripple of consternation among the watchers. Only Severus noticed Lucius let out the breath that he had been holding. His own relief went unexpressed by so much as the flicker of an eyelid. Years of humiliation at the hands of his yearmate Gryffindor pupils had taught him the folly of showing a bully any reaction.

Voldemort sheathed his wand and stepped closer. "Well, boy, what can you offer me, and my followers?"

For answer Snape lifted his own wand, long fingers lose on the ebony shaft, and pointed it straight up at the roof of the building. His voice was so low that only those close to him, Voldemort and Lucius, heard the charm. For a moment nothing happened. Then the illusory smoke from the candles stirred, coalesced, writhed in a ball on the point of the wand, growing darker with every passing second. Green-tinged lightning flashed through the fumes as an image began to form. First a skull, black eye-pits filled with green fire; and then , as the lower jaw fell, a writhing emerald-eyed serpent curled out and flowed around the room. The assembled wizards ducked as it passed over their heads, unable to hide their instinctive fear of such an image. Only Voldemort remained apparently unaffected. He gave a lazy grin, almost the twin of the one that hovered over their heads.

"Not just a talent for potions, then?" he observed mildly.

"That would take a little longer to demonstrate," Snape stated, banishing the image. The tension in the room lightened immediately.

Voldemort nodded. "Interesting," he said. "But to no purpose. What use is such illusion?"

"All symbols have a purpose, my Lord. You might use this one to summon your followers – or to terrify your opponents. The charm is no more difficult than conjuring coloured sparks as a distress signal – and much more effective."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Then he glanced around at the seated wizards. "A simple charm? Simple enough for my most… challenged… followers? Well then, let us see if Alecto can master it."

Lucius drew in a sharp breath. Not only was Alecto known for her incompetence with the simplest of charms, but she had never really forgiven himself, or Snape, for their contempt through her schooldays. Voldemort could not have chosen a worse subject. Under the concealment of his robes, his hand curled around the shaft of his wand.

Alecto waddled forward from her place in the front row of seats. Snape turned to greet her, still showing no hint of his emotions, though Voldemort's wand was levelled at his back.

"The charm," he said, as carefully as to a child taking its first lesson in levitation, "Is _Morsmordre_. You will say it exactly as I have done. And follow my wand-movement precisely. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she said, with her customary churlishness.

"Good. Thus." Again Snape demonstrated the charm, and Alecto followed him with the precision of an automaton. There was a moment of silence, when it seemed that she had failed – but then the smoke spurted from her wand with the sudden force of water from an unblocked pipe. The shape which formed was larger, and cruder than that which Snape had conjured – and consequently far more horrific. The ranked watchers gasped; save Lucius, whose attention was still focussed on Voldemort.

Who smiled.

"Good." He said at last, lowering his wand. "You have earned a place among us, Severus Snape. And I think that your designation should be… Snakeshead. And now…" He turned away, dismissing the two men from his presence and his consideration. The remainder of the meeting was taken up with the minutiae of political and financial manoeuvring designed to put the members of the League into positions of power within the wizarding community. It was not until much later that Lucius and Snape had the opportunity to speak again as they made their way back to their apparition point.

"I think," said Lucius, conversationally, "that you may have saved my life back there. He was ready to make a terminal example of me for questioning his decision."

"Since his 'decision' was to kill me, I confess to some self-interest." Snape said. "And besides, that was a neat demonstration of wordless _Imperius_ on Alecto."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. Snape gave a derisive snort. "She would never have succeeded in following my instructions under her own volition."

"I suspected not," Lucius said, mildly. "Well, shall we call the life-debt odds as even on this day's events?"

"Yes," Snape said, thoughtfully. "Yes. I think we might."

~oOo~


	4. 1981 - Spinners End

Lily was dead. And it was his fault. The last thing that Severus Snape wanted at this point in his life was to provide a shoulder for Lucius Malfoy, of all people, to cry on. But here Lucius was. On his doorstep. Demanding admittance. And favours.

He took a small and vicious pleasure in watching Lucius' nose wrinkle with ill-concealed disgust, either at the state of Snape's home or his person, before the expression was masked by the pureblood's customary mirthless political smile.

"Well?" he asked.

Snape really did not feel up to making any verbal response - no matter how tempted. He stepped aside and allowed Lucius to step through the doorway. By the time his visitor had divested himself of his cloak Snape was lounging back in his chair slopping another measure of gin into his tumbler. He had finished the whisky last night and was not yet quite desperate enough to start on the vodka.

"I don't suppose," said Lucius, after a pause long enough to allow a sober host time to offer his unexpected guest a drink - and for the guest to refuse, "that there is any point in asking you whether there is a sobering potion in this house?"

Severus scowled. "'Course not. Bit pointless in the sirc… circum… wassis."

"And you are in no state to start brewing."

Snape's grin turned to a beam of drunken conviviality. Lucius sighed and reached into his robe.

"So I took the liberty of bringing my own.."

"Don't need… don't want…" Snape managed, flapping a hand ineffectually at the proffered bottle.

"I need you sober for this." Lucius said, firmly. If you want to drink yourself into a stupor later I won't stop you. Though I can't imagine why you're so upset about the demise of the Dark Lord."

"Not him," Snape slurred. "Her. Lily. He… he promised she'd be… safe."

Lucius had found a clean and uncracked mug on the dresser and was busy decanting the sobering potion into it. He looked up in surprise. "The Dark Lord promised to spare Potter's wife? You don't know what you're talking about," he said. "She was a mudblood. You know the Dark Lord never spared a mudblood. Nothing you could have done would have stopped him."

"Her bloody husband was Pureblood. _He_ was supposed to look after her. Mister Wonderful James Potter. He was _told_ to get them away. But no. He has to put his wife and kid right in the middle of a fucking war zone."

Lucius' face clouded. "Maybe," he said, proffering the cup, "Maybe he didn't have a choice. I have a wife and son too, Severus. And I don't think that the Wizengamot intends to allow me to care for them. Not for the foreseeable future at any rate. That is why I need your help."

That caught Snape's attention. He took the potion and threw it back in one swallow, grimacing at the taste and its effect. Sudden sobriety was, in many ways, worse than a hangover.

"My help? Why? Have your friends in high places deserted you?

Lucius frowned. "People in high places don't have friends," he said. They have 'contacts'. And mine are all looking out for themselves. They're rounding up what they call 'Death Eaters'."

Snape snorted derisively.

Lucius nodded. "Not a very attractive epithet, but since Bellatrix _would_ yell 'Eat Death, Mudbloods!' in the height of battle I suppose it was to be expected."

"You should have made a better choice of in-laws. I hope you're not expecting me to go out of my way to protect _her_?"

Lucius shook his head. "No. Azkaban could only improve her."

At the name of the wizard's prison Snape looked up sharply. Lucius nodded. "Oh yes. Anyone known, or even suspected, to have been one of Lord Voldemort's supporters faces a spell in Azkaban. Those in his inner circle are likely to be sentenced to be Kissed."

There was a long silence between the two men. Snape was wholly sober now.

"And what is it that you want me to do?" he asked at last.

Confident now that Snape was paying attention, Lucius lowered himself onto the sagging sofa. "They will question suspects under _Veritaserum_. I propose to tell them that I was acting under the influence of the _Imperius_ curse. With sufficient proof, and a good lawyer - and I have access to a very good lawyer - there will be nothing that the Wizengamot can do to me."

"Lucius," Snape said, very carefully, as if lecturing a potions symposium, "You cannot lie under _Veritaserum_. It isn't possible. And everyone knows that you're a master of _Imperius_. It's practically your bloody signature spell."

Lucius smiled slyly. "Exactly. Any test of my wand will show that it has been used to cast that Unforgivable. But not on who. Or when. Or by whom. If you cast it on me now, using my wand, I will be able to tell the Wizangamot, with absolute honesty, that I have been acting under the influence of an Unforgivable curse, cast by a Death Eater, in Voldemort's Inner Circle. That should be more than sufficient to keep me out of Azkaban, and the hands of the Dementors."

Snape sat down heavily on the arm of the sofa and looked into Lucius' calm grey eyes. The confidence there was infectious. But… "You're asking me to cast an Unforgivable Curse? That's not an easy thing, Lucius."

"To save my life," said Lucius. "And to ensure the safety of my wife and son."

There was a long silence between them. The tick of the clock in the corner of the room, and the single chime of the hour, seemed as loud to Lucius as his own pulse. At last Snape sighed.

"Tell me, Lucius," he asked, "Why did you come to me for this?"

"Because…" Lucius hesitated, then took his wand from its holster, and held it out. "Because, apart from Narcissa, you're the only person I can trust."

Snape stared at the thin elm shaft for a long time. Then he lifted his eyes to Lucius' "If I do this," he said, "I could make you do… anything."

"Yes." Lucius nodded. "I said I trust you. You won't force me to do anything that both of us don't want."

Again there was that silence in the room as both men contemplated the implication of those words. Then Snape took the wand, set it carefully down on a side table, and reached out his hand to Lucius.

"And if," he said, slowly, as his fingers met the silk threadwork along the edge of Lucius' robe, "If I want… you?"

He felt Lucius' indrawn breath through his fingertips, but it was nothing more than that. Lucius did not pull away from the touch, and his eyes did not leave Snape's. "For that," he breathed, "you do not need an _Imperius_ curse."

Snape nodded, allowing his hand to slide under the low-cut neckline of Lucius' robe to caress bare flesh. Lucius shivered under the touch. Since marrying Narcissa he had not felt another mans touch so intimately, and he had not realised how much he had missed it. And Snape… he cursed himself inwardly for not having propositioned the boy years earlier. But he had never guessed that his desires in that direction were reciprocated. They had been friends, as befitted their age and station in life, and now, like Snape, he regretted that wasted time.

"Yes," he answered, taking Snape's face between his hands and bringing his mouth down to possess his.

Through the kiss, through the plundering of his lips and the possession of his tongue, Snape continued his caresses, pushing the robe from Lucius' shoulders to trace long fingers down his collarbones, across the planes of his chest, to pinch colour and arousal to his nipples.

That brought response. Lucius broke the kiss and flung his head back, mouth open in a gasp of arousal.

Severus smiled, replaced his fingers with his lips, and moved his hands lower. He was unsurprised to find nothing but the three jet buttons fastening Lucius' black silk drawers separating him from his goal. It was a contradiction that had always fascinated him about Lucius Malfoy; the ruthless practicality of his sharp mind, and the staid reserve of his dress.

There was nothing reserved about the response to his intimate touch. Beneath the barely concealing soft fabric Lucius was not just hard for him, he was desperate.

"Severussss…" It was an agonised hiss. Snape glanced up to see the open mouth and flared nostrils as Lucius rolled his head against the antimacassar, fighting for air. The violence of the movement dislodged the heavy silk bow from his hair, and it cascaded free, startlingly white against the ivory linen. Snape's own breath caught at the sight. It was so like his erotic daydreams that for a moment Snape wondered whether he had, indeed, put the other man under a compulsive spell, and demanded that he act out his fantasies.

"Severus… you bastard… _please_!"

Lucius Malfoy was begging.

From somewhere Snape found the will to complete the task of unfastening Lucius' undergarments, pushing tangled damp fabric down over trembling thighs, and then his hand was pressing against warmth, and heat and hardness and, after little more than the reverent curl and press and pull of his fingers, the pulse of ejaculation.

====

Three soft chimes from the clock in the corner startled them both out of their post-coital ennui. It had been nearly two hours since Lucius' arrival, yet it seemed like a lifetime. After that first, desperate climax Lucius had relaxed and taken things more slowly, and brought his partner to an equally satisfying conclusion.

Several times.

Snape disentangled himself from his new-found lover and reached for his wand. His groping fingers closed not around his own wand, but on the longer and slimmer shape of the one which he had placed on the side table earlier. With the touch came the memory of why it was there. Snape lifted it and held it up, drawing Lucius' eyes.

"Are you still sure about this?" he asked.

Lucius gave a jaw-cracking yawn, and then nodded. "If this changes anything, it makes it all the more imperative that I stay out of Azkaban." He smiled. "They might let me have conjugal visits from Narcissa - I doubt that one from you would be regarded with favour."

"It's not a joke," Snape snapped. "You do realise that the Dark Lord is not dead? If he returns then such an Imperious curse could be dangerous for you. You would be forced to do his bidding."

Lucius shrugged. "I trust that Dumbledore and his people already have plans to deal with any such return. I intend to keep well clear while they deal with him. You had better get on with it. I have an appointment with the Aurors at four."

"I wish I had your confidence," said Snape. He lifted the wand, and levelled it, summoning all his will. "_Imperio!_"

~oOo~


	5. 1999 - Hogsmeade

The only thing that Lucius could be grateful for was that the reincarnated Dark Lord had never realised how much power he held over him. From the moment that the Dark Mark had burned on Lucius' arm, all those years ago, summoning him to the graveyard to witness the madman's resurrection, to this moment, amid the carnage of Hogwarts, every command had burned into Lucius' consciousness, overriding his sense and will. Without the compulsion of the Imperious Curse Lucius might have escaped, have taken his wife and son abroad, beyond the influence of Voldemort or the Ministry. But now - well, he was only grateful that he had been able to conceal how much power the Dark Lord had over him.

"Go and fetch Snape."

It was the command Lucius had been hoping for, and for a moment he could not believe that he had heard it aright. "Snape, m - my Lord?"

"Snape. Now. I need him."

So, thought Lucius, do I. Terrified that Voldemort might change his mind, or give the order to someone else he turned and left the room.

Finding Snape without the use of his wand to perform a location charm was not easy, and he wondered whether his Lord had meant him to fail in this, as in so much else. But he had been the Death Eaters strategist for a long time, and had passed much of his knowledge to Snape. It was only a matter of seeking the best vantage point for directing their forces. And that was where he found Snape, on a rise at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, surveying the breached defences of the school, and the gathering Dark Forces.

"Severus?"

The black robes billowed as the man turned at the sound of his name. His eyes widened. "Lucius? What are you doing here? I thought that you and Narcissa..." He broke off, realising the reason for Lucius' presence before he spoke.

"The Dark Lord ordered me to fetch you to him." He laid the stress on the 'ordered'.

"I see. And does he have the snake with him?"

"Yes. He never lets it away from his side now. And he has it in a warded cage. They are in the Shrieking Shack."

Snape took a deep breath, and muttered something under his breath. Lucius caught "So, Lord Voldemort fears for the life of his snake. The old man was right. We are nearing the end."

"What?" Lucius did not hide his confusion, but Severus ignored him.

"You had better take me to him," he said. "Since those are your orders. But... there is something that I would ask you to do for me."

Lucius frowned. "So long as it does not require a wand," he said.

Snape shook his head, and turned, to start walking down the hill. Lucius fell into step beside him. "No. You will not need magic. You need only to watch, and await your moment. I do not think, that after our meeting, the Dark Lord will be concerned with your actions any more."

"Have you become a seer in your old age, Severus?" Lucius tried to make a joke of it, but his friend's face was grave.

"Too many people have put their trust in prophecy," Snape said. "I prefer to rely on knowledge, and logic. And the trust of a friend." As they walked together towards the dark bulk of the Shrieking Shack, Severus spoke rapidly. By the time they reached their destination Lucius knew precisely how much trust they must both put in their long-forged friendship. He wondered whether it would be enough.

=====

It had sounded so easy. Watch, and await your moment. But waiting, cloaked in the shadows, while the Dark Lord gloated over his helpless victim, and then while Potter and his friends collected the overspill of Snape's memories, was the hardest thing he had ever done. Before the last trace of them had disappeared back down the passageway Lucius was at the man's side, fumbling for the pouch which Snape had passed to him on their long walk to find the bezoar and the phial of blood replenishing potion.

It seemed to take so long. Lucius was sure that Snape was dead already, even as he forced the stone between bloodless lips, followed it with the potion, and waited an eternity before the man finally swallowed, choked, and black eyes opened to meet his. He leaned impossibly closer, his lips brushing Severus' ear.

"Legilimens," he murmured. A jumble of images flooded his mind, of himself and Snape, over years, touching, holding, sharing."

"Another life-debt?" Snape's lips formed the words. Lucius shook his head.

"I think," he said softly, "that it's past time we stopped counting."

FIN


End file.
